The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,22

it has not spread to the provinces yet.’

Octavian shook his head, his expression bleak.

‘I came back to tell you both to pack up your belongings. We need to get to Brundisium.’

Agrippa’s head jerked up at the word, but it was Maecenas who spoke first.

‘I was just explaining to the keen sailor why that is the last place we would want to go, at least until the city settles down. It will be chaos out there, Octavian. Believe me, every Roman family is doubling their guards right now, ready for civil war.’

‘You’re right,’ Octavian said. ‘The legions are at Brundisium as well.’

‘So tell me why that isn’t the last place in the world we should visit,’ Maecenas said.

He saw Octavian’s gaze turn inward, his eyes shadowed as he lowered his head. There was silence in the yard for a moment before he spoke again.

‘Because those men were loyal to Caesar – to my family. If there is anyone left who wants to see revenge for his murder, they will be in that camp by the sea. That’s where I must go.’

‘You realise there could also be men there who would think nothing of killing you?’ Maecenas asked softly.

Octavian’s gaze flickered to him.

‘I have to start somewhere. I can’t let them wipe their hands clean and just go on with their lives. I knew him, Maecenas. He was … a better man than the snapping dogs in Rome, every one of them. He would want me to walk into their houses and show them the mercy they showed him.’

Agrippa nodded, rubbing a hand through his beard.

‘He’s right,’ he said. ‘We have to get back to Brundisium. Out here, we’re too far away to know anything.’

Maecenas looked from man to man and for once there was no wry humour in his expression.

‘Three men?’ he said. ‘Against the legions of Rome?’

‘No, not against them, with them,’ Octavian replied. ‘I know those men, Maecenas. I have served with hundreds, no, thousands of them. They will remember me. I know them better than the greyheads of the Senate, at least.’

‘I see. That is … a relief,’ Maecenas said.

He looked to Agrippa for some sign that he wasn’t going along with this madness, but Agrippa was watching Octavian with a fierce intensity. The young man who dropped lightly from his horse and strode across the yard had impressed him from the first time they met, two years before. It was not just that Octavian was a blood relative of Caesar, or had seen the great cities of the east. The young Roman was a man who saw through the febrile twitching of merchants, nobles and soldiers to what really mattered. Agrippa remembered watching him hold court at a party, speaking so well and fluently that even the drunks were listening to him. Octavian had offered them pride in what they could bring to the world, but Agrippa had heard the other strand woven into the words – the cost and burden that they must shoulder to represent the city. He’d listened in awe to concepts and thoughts that had never intruded upon his father’s endless quest for more wealth.

One of the drunkest nobles had laughed at Octavian. With a quick jerk, Agrippa had tossed the man over the balcony. He grinned as he remembered the amused shock on Octavian’s face as half the crowd rushed past them both. It had been enough to begin a friendship neither man had been looking for. They’d drunk and talked until dawn and Agrippa thanked his gods he’d chosen to go out that night at his father’s urging. He’d found no new deals to make, nor rich daughters to court, but the following morning he’d gone to the docks and joined his first legion galley. His father hadn’t spoken to him since that day.

Sweat patches stood out on Octavian’s tunic and his horse was already lathered in strings of spit. Yet his orders were clear and precise to Fidolus as they walked back into the house to pack.

‘You did not mention the sickness that struck him last night,’ Agrippa observed in a low voice. Maecenas glanced at him.

‘It didn’t happen. Or if it did, he’ll be the one to bring it up.’

Maecenas dismounted and flicked his reins over a post before walking inside to dress. Agrippa watched him go and, when he was finally alone, allowed a smile to spread across his face. He liked them both, a constant wonder for a man who did not make friends easily. For all